


The View in Frame

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Case Fic, M/M, Past Character Death, Private Investigator Kyle Rayner, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Jason Todd-Wayne drops into Kyle's life like a falling piano—completely unexpected, absolutely ridiculously good looking, and on the verge of being a complete wreck. Even as he hears the job, he knows he should stop Jason right there and show him the door—this is a client who is way out of the league of his tiny, one-man P.I. operation.Instead, he takes the job.





	The View in Frame

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of [chibi_nightowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl)'s excellent little ficlet, which can be found [here](https://chibinightowl.tumblr.com/post/174071189498/if-you-are-still-doing-prompts-can-you-do-a). She also beta'd this and held my hand, so thanks for that!

Jason Todd-Wayne drops into Kyle's life like a falling piano—completely unexpected, absolutely ridiculously good looking, and on the verge of being a complete wreck. Granted, the man does a decent job of pretending he's fine, explaining that several artistic and not-quite pornographic prints have been stolen from his penthouse. How the photographs may not be worth much monetarily, but are of great sentimental value, having been taken by the man's deceased fiancé.

Kyle knows he should stop Jason right there and show him the door, suggest one of the big firms that's been around longer and has more resources. The client is out of his league, he doesn't want to deal with the celebrity factor, chances are the photos have already been sold through some skeevy internet auction site. He knows all this, but he became a cop to help make a positive difference in people's lives, and since leaving the force and striking out on his own, there's been a lot less helping and a lot more spying on extramarital affairs.

He takes the job.

 

* * *

 

First things first, Kyle puts a few feelers into the art community, lets his contacts at the auction houses know that if the photographs come across their desks, he'd very much like to know.

Unfortunately, he knows it's unlikely to be that simple. As gorgeous as the prints are, unless Jason's fiancé was a particularly well-known photographer, it's unlikely the thief took them for their artistic value. Jason may be trying to downplay and ignore his status as a Wayne, but the rest of the world isn't willing to do the same. The stolen photographs are hardly salacious in nature, but celebrity nudes are celebrity nudes and there's a very good chance the images are destined for a gossip rag rather than an auction house.

Kyle's connections to the media aren't nearly as good as those to the art world, but he knows people who know people, and that's better than nothing.

He sends Jason a text to call him for an update when the man has a moment. Kyle could easily email, but Jason's case is a special one, and he'd like to give it a personal touch. Plus, there's something about Jason's voice that sends shivers down his spine every time he hears it.

Instead of calling, Jason shows up at Kyle's apartment that doubles as both studio and office that afternoon, knocking on the frame of the open doorway. He'd spent the morning cleaning brushes, and that always means opening up all the windows and doors in hopes of getting some cross ventilation going.

"You didn't have to come all the way over here in person," Kyle says when he notices Jason standing awkwardly on his threshold. "I don't have anything to tell you that couldn't just be said over the phone." Wayne Tower is all the way over on the other side of the city, along with the glitzy, high-rent properties Kyle can never hope to live in. Still, the guy's already here, so he goes ahead and waves him in. Enough time has passed that most of the paint thinner fumes are gone.

"I haven't got much of anything else to do aside from unpack. I can come back another time if now isn't good, but I wanted to drop this off while I thought of it." Jason holds up a thumb drive, neatly labeled in permanent marker with a date from last week.

Kyle takes the drive, glancing at it curiously. "And this is…?"

"I badgered the head of building security until he gave me a copy of the penthouse's security footage for the day of the break-in," Jason explains.

"Great. But I don't understand—if you have the robbery on camera, why hire me?"

"The footage is all corrupted—blurry, stray artifacts, the works. Only the penthouse footage is affected, and only for the time of the robbery, which is why I figured it for an inside job."

Kyle grimaces. He knows how to run a search and use Photoshop, but he's far from any kind of computer whiz. "If the video's corrupted, I probably can't do anything with it."

"Are you sure? I know that Ti—that there are programs and things that can sort of… extrapolate the original image from the corrupted one," Jason says, looking inexplicably flustered.

"Sure, but it's expensive software and you need expert skills to operate it. I've got neither. I do have a friend who might," Kyle says hurriedly. "If you don't mind my sharing this, I can see what he makes of it." 

"I'll… have to get back to you on that."

"Fair enough."

 

* * *

 

He waits until Jason's left, then plugs the drive into his computer. It's not too difficult to find the footage for the camera he wants and fast-forward through it until he gets close to the noted time. There's always the chance the corruption isn't as bad as Jason claimed, after all.

The image on the screen starts to go blurry, then suddenly dissolves to the point that it's so pixelated all Kyle can tell is that there's a figure moving across the screen—there's no sense of height, gender, body shape, anything. He watches the whole thing through—it can't take more than ten minutes total, the corruption spreading from camera to camera as the intruder moves through the penthouse. It's obvious now why Jason said it must be an inside job—whoever the thief was, they clearly knew about every camera in the penthouse.

Though he can't pull anything from it to identify the thief from the footage, two things catch Kyle's notice as he watches. The first is that the intruder went all through the penthouse, then doubled back right before leaving to where earlier footage showed the missing prints hanging. The second thing is that, while the thief clearly went everywhere in the apartment, the only things that appear to be missing—indeed, the only things Jason has expressed any concern over—are the prints. While Kyle's hardly well-schooled in the lifestyles of the filthy rich, he does know art, and a number of the paintings adorning the walls of the penthouse have to be worth a good sum of money, even if they're reproductions and not the originals.

All in all, none of it bodes well for Jason.

 

* * *

 

He texted Jason that he was on his way over, but if Kyle's honest with himself, he expects to be turned away at the door of Wayne Tower. It's a last-minute thing, after all, Jason's probably out and about doing whatever it is people do when their father is one of the richest people on the planet and they never have to work a day of their lives.

The receptionist smiles pleasantly when Kyle approaches her. He starts to explain why he's there—not all of it, just the absolute bare bones—but she cuts him off before he can get much further than his name. "We were told you might be stopping by, Mr. Rayner. I'll buzz you right up, take that elevator there," she says, indicating to a very discreet door half-hidden by her desk. Kyle hadn't even realized it led to an elevator.

The ride up is fast and silent, no music, no other passengers. This lift is apparently reserved just for the penthouse, since aside from the buttons to open and close the doors, there really isn't much of a control panel to speak of. It's mildly creepy in that way that everything specially tailored for the 1% is always slightly unnerving.

Jason's waiting for him when he steps out of the elevator. "Your message didn't explain why you were coming over. Have you had a break in the case? Were you able to fix the video?"

"I have a theory, but first I need to know if anything was taken aside from the prints." Kyle is pretty sure he knows the answer to that, but he figures it best to double-check before he causes any unnecessary worry.

"No, nothing. At least, not that I'm aware of."

"Look, I have some suspicions, but I can't be sure of anything until I have a look around the penthouse, if that's alright."

Jason shrugs and steps aside. "It's kind of a mess. I just moved here from Gotham, so stuff is still getting put away."

"The place was empty before?"

"Not empty, just mostly impersonal, and only furnished with the basics for any of the family to use when they were in the city. The few personal touches were all my dad's doing, and while he knows art, his idea of comfort runs a lot richer than my tastes."

Looking over the penthouse's main room, Kyle can easily pick out Jason's new additions in amongst the scattered boxes—a worn but comfy leather recliner, a chipped end table that's just the right height to go next to the recliner, a plush throw rug in a somewhat questionable shade of green that he doesn't doubt feels like heaven to walk across barefoot. They stand out against the clean, modern aesthetic of the rest of the room, but they also make it look like a real person lives here and it's not just a model home. "I can see what you mean. You brought the photos with you, then?"

"Yeah. They were in my old place back in Gotham, but I've had them in storage for a few years. Finally felt ready to put them up again when I moved here." Jason walks through a door to the left of the main entry, Kyle following on his heels. This room is much more put-together than the one they just left, with solid floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a couple of squashy armchairs, and a massive oak desk that looks like it must weigh a ton. A series of black-and-white photographs hang between the windows set into the far wall.

"Copies?" Kyle asks, though even as he moves closer to get a better look, he knows that's not right. No, these are of someone else, someone other than Jason, though the content and poses are much the same. Different photographer, too. Actually… "I've seen these before. Donna's work, right?"

Jason startles, blue eyes going wide. "Yeah. Tim took the ones of me, saying they were a present to himself, then surprised me with these. Donna's actually the one who recommended you to me when I told her about the theft. All of them were waiting to be hung together in an alternating sequence, but only the ones of me were taken."

"Strange." Kyle calls up the missing photos on his phone, glances at the prints on the wall, then back at the screen. He can see the difference, but only because he's seen the ones on the wall before in Donna's portfolio. The average person likely wouldn't realize the photos were taken by two different photographers, let alone that they're of two different subjects.

"What?"

"Look, I don't want to alarm you or anything, but I don't think you're dealing with an art theft here. There are a number of more expensive pieces in the main room alone, plus, no offense to your fiancé, but Donna's work is worth more than some unknown."

"What are you saying?" Jason demands, crossing his arms and glaring.

"I'm thinking your thief is some enterprising paparazzo looking to dig up dirt on you or your family. Those photos are way more likely to show up in one of the gossip rags than an auction house. That's if whoever took them doesn't just approach you directly and demand you pay up to keep them from being printed.”

"Blackmail? With those?" Jason snorts. "They can try and make a scandal out of it, but it's not going to work. The photos are art prints, not pornography. Tim had them hanging in his office before, where anyone could see them."

Kyle lets out the breath he's been holding. He knows the Waynes tend to be more reticent than the average celebrity family when it comes to their private lives. He was more than a little worried how Jason would respond to the news that something clearly meant to be private was likely on its way to make a big splash in a very public way. "If their aim was dirt, there may be other information that they gathered," he cautions.

"So TMZ runs a puff piece on the fact that I prefer boxers over briefs. I think I'll live," Jason says, relaxing back against the wall. "I'd still like to get the photos back, for sentimental reasons if nothing else."

"Gotcha. I'll do what I can, but you might be better off waiting until they see print or someone contacts you."

"I said I wasn't ashamed of them, but that doesn't mean I want them out there if I can help it." Jason nods to the remaining photos on the wall. "There's a reason Tim had Donna crop the copies she put in her portfolio. The entire series was meant as a private keepsake, and I'd like to keep it private if I can."

Glancing back at the photos, Kyle can see what he means. Because of the way they're cropped, the man's face is never shown in its entirety, but from the bits and pieces shown, it's not just sensual, hooded glances. The degree of love in the subject's eyes shines through the stark black and white with such an intensity it makes his own heart ache in sympathy. "He was gorgeous," he offers, because something about those sly smiles resonates with him in an odd manner and he can't think of any better way to express that.

Jason smiles sadly and rolls his shoulders, pushing off from the wall. "He was, wasn't he? It's funny, because that's the thing I tend to forget the most. I remember everything else—his stupid jokes, the way he used to stay up until three in the morning with his gaming buddies, how he'd stick his cold hands under my shirt all the time—but somehow I always forget how beautiful he was when I'm not looking at a picture of him."

"That's how it is for the people who really matter to you. You remember everything that made them _them_ and how they looked wasn't that important in the long run." Whereas Kyle can never forget how Alex looked the last time he saw her—or rather, her body, splayed out on a blood-soaked mattress.

"It's weird, because I never really thought of him like that for the longest time? I mean, we'd been friends for years, but his family moved to Keystone City when I was eighteen. We talked online all the time, but I didn't see him again until he came back to Gotham after college, and it was just…"

"'Oh no, he's hot,'" Kyle says, deadpan.

The other man laughs. "My younger sister said the exact same thing at the time. C'mon, let me walk you out—unless there was something else you needed?"

"No," Kyle says, sparing the photos one final look. "I think I'm good for now."

 

* * *

 

At the elevator, Jason hesitates before pressing the button to open the door. "Kyle? The video—if you have someone you trust who can fix it enough to get something from it, go ahead and give it to them."

"You sure? You probably know people who can do it. Or at least I'm sure your dad employs people who can."

"If I wanted to involve him, I would have done from the start," Jason says, shaking his head. "I've lost so much of Tim, I just want to get this part back with as little fuss as possible."

"Yeah, alright," Kyle says, trying to wrap his head around loving someone that much. The closest he's ever gotten has been Donna, and look at how that turned out. "I'll see what I can do."

 

* * *

 

Back when Kyle was still on the force, after he got his detective's shield but before he blew out his knee (so, before Alex), his captain liked to give him what the rest of the bullpen called "artsy-fartsy" cases. No one really wanted to deal with eccentric artist types, but even then he'd had a reputation as a creative soul, so likely the captain figured he wouldn't mind dealing with his fellow weirdos.

About ten months, a year before the chase that led to his career-changing injury, a case came across his desk involving some thefts from an antiquities gallery. Not really an art sort of thing, but some bright soul saw the word "gallery" and figured Kyle was the man for the job.

When he showed up at the gallery to check out the scene and question the staff, the woman running it gave him free-rein of the place—not that it meant anything since from the look of things at the time, Kyle figured it for an inside job. The director had some sort of shady past, the locks hadn't been forced, and none of the shiny stuff in the gallery rooms was missing, just things from the back, new arrivals that were waiting to be cleaned and prepped for display.

He'd been about ready to take the gallery director back to the station for questioning when he'd noticed the cameras mounted high in the corners of all the rooms in the building, far more cameras than there were monitors in the converted broom closet that served as a security room. When he'd asked around, he was told all the cameras were functional, but no one was exactly sure how to access the recordings of the ones in the back room, and really, he should talk to the man who'd installed them if he wanted that.

Which was how Kyle ended up meeting Gary Glanz.

The thing about Gary is that he _looks_ like a C.I. The dead mouse growing on his chin, the scraggly sideburns, the truly hideous mullet, the slightly tinted glasses that may or may not be prescription. The guy might almost be attractive if he took the time to trim his facial hair, but he never has for as long as Kyle's known him. All the same, he looks more like a skater trying to pretend he's a banger than he ever has a nerd.

Gary's day job is as a barista at a Sundollars not too far from Kyle's apartment, though he also picks up hours as one of the on-call tech-geeks at an electronics super-store on the weekends, which was how he came to install the gallery's surveillance system. A system that was apparently much more complex than the owner had thought and had eventually revealed the thief to be none other than the owner's shady ex, who had apparently copied her keys before she'd returned to her senses and dumped his sorry ass. A pretty open-and-shut case once the video had been obtained, and one that Kyle probably wouldn't even remember if it weren't for Gary's involvement.

The guy is a contradiction of sorts. Despite his pothead skater look, he can make computers dance in a way that says real talent and frequently leaves Kyle wondering what the hell he's doing, working at dead-end jobs despite probably being smart enough to have his pick of the various tech giants—WayneTech, LexCorp, Kord Industries.

Still, Gary's self-delegation to the shiny world of minimum wage is Kyle's gain, so he's not exactly complaining. The guy is also the reason why he isn't still moping around his loft on disability, having been the one to suggest Kyle look into getting a P.I. license. Plus, Gary makes a hell of a secret weapon, giving him a leg up on the tech side of things so he can actually compete with the larger and more established P.I. firms in the city. The minute he starts making enough to afford an employee, Kyle fully intends to steal Gary away to be his full-time computer monkey.

Of course, doing so would definitely throw a wrench in his vague long-term plan of eventually dating Gary. Sure, the guy is a complete mess when it comes to fashion, and he doesn't seem to have any greater ambitions than avoiding shifts with his more unpleasant coworkers, but he's smart and funny. There's definite chemistry between them, something Kyle's tried to pursue in the past, only for Gary to shut him down with the news that he was recovering from his last relationship and needed some time before getting back on the dating merry-go-round.

That was five months ago and Kyle is still waiting for a green light.

"Hey, Detective," Alice greets him when he comes into the Sundollars, already pulling down a cup for Kyle's usual chai latte.

"I keep telling you, it's just Kyle now," he reminds her, though enough time has passed he barely feels the sting of regret at what he lost anymore.

"Gary just got off his shift. He'll be out in a minute, probably."

"Thanks."

Gary makes his appearance as Kyle's paying for his drink, looking just as much of a hobo as always, a ratty beanie pulled down over his truly unfortunate mullet. He smiles when he sees him, that little half-smirk that always makes Kyle's heart speed up and leaves his mouth feeling a little dry. "You said on the phone you have a job for me?"

"Grab us a table and I'll fill you in," Kyle says, taking his cup as Alice hands it to him.

Gary leans his board against the leg of an empty table and sits down. "One of these days I'm not gonna be free at the drop of a hat. At least you remembered phones are a thing, this time around. I realize you're ancient, but it's past time for you to come into the twenty-first century already."

"I'm not _that_ much older than you." At least, he doesn't think he is. A decade, tops. Probably. Kyle shrugs it off, digging the thumb drive out of his bag. "Do you want the job or not?"

"Gimme," Gary says, making grabby hands until the drive is handed over. The guy's never said anything, but during the time that he's known him, Kyle's gotten the impression that Gary's grateful for the challenges these little side jobs offer him. "What is it? Am I decoding secret messages? Writing a complex facial-recognition algorithm? Saving the free world from a nefarious plot?"

"More like fixing corrupted surveillance footage of a penthouse break-in. Client had some art stolen and wants it back; probably couldn't hurt to know how his security was compromised, though. The system is top of the line, but all the footage of the break-in is pixelated to the point that nothing can be pulled from it."

"If the thief's that good, why not just turn the cameras off entirely? Or loop 'em at least." Gary shrugs off his backpack and digs out his laptop, plugging in the drive.

"How should I know? You're the expert." Kyle hesitates, then adds, "Look, this job is a little different from my usual gigs. The NDA you signed as my freelancer is still in full effect as you review that video. I don't want to see any of the footage out there, no matter how much you'd stand to make off of it. Remember that I've still got friends on the force."

Gary rolls his eyes and waves off Kyle's concerns. "Big name client?" he asks, doing all kinds of mysterious things—opening programs, clicking buttons, adjusting sliders—stuff Kyle can't even pretend to understand.

"Sort of." Gary hails from California, so there's a chance he's not familiar with the Wayne family, but it's a slim one. Wayne Enterprises is a global giant, after all.

"Oh." Gary is staring at his screen, frowning.

"Something wrong?"

"What? Oh, no. Just that this guy was pretty good. I'm going to need a fancier system than the one I've got here to crack this. You okay if I take this and work on it at home?"

"Yeah, sure," Kyle tells him. "Knock yourself out."

 

* * *

 

Since Jason's taken off the pressure in terms of getting the prints back in a timely manner, Kyle figures he can safely spend the next few days focussing on other jobs. He doesn't have a lot—he learned early in this business to never take on too much at one time—but there's a freelance design project he should finish the first-draft roughs on, and on the PI-side of things he's got a simple enough job he should work on, tracking down someone's old college roommate to pass on a wedding invitation. Simple, mind-numbing work but it helps pay the bills.

He meets up with Donna for lunch in between things and takes the opportunity to ask some questions that have been nagging at him ever since Jason Todd-Wayne first set foot through the door of his studio.

"You'll never guess who showed up wanting to hire me last week."

"Jason found you alright, then?" Donna asks, and he remembers belatedly that Jason said she was the one who sent him to Kyle in the first place.

"You never told me you were rubbing elbows with the rich and famous," he says accusingly.

"He's good friends with Roy and his brother works with Kori sometimes," Donna says, naming two of her closest friends. "I hope you can help. It's awful that this happened to him."

"I'm working on it. Or, well, Gary's working on the security video, trying to get something from it."

"One of these days I'm going to meet your better half."

"He's not," Kyle protests.

"Not for lack of trying on your part from the way you tell it. I'm surprised he still puts up with your sorry butt."

"He's not uninterested," Kyle reminds her, because Gary definitely still shoots appreciative looks in his direction whenever they meet up. "He's just leery about starting anything since his last relationship was apparently a real mess."

Donna hums thoughtfully. "You trust him? With Jason's stuff?"

"Gary's a solid guy," he says firmly. "A little weird and quirky, but essentially a good person. I can't see him doing anything that might hurt someone."

"Good. Jason's been through enough crap to last a lifetime."

"Dead fiancé, right. I meant to ask you about that," Kyle says tentatively. "All Jason said was that the guy died in an accident, but I'd like to know more. Try and keep myself from stepping on any landmines."

"I don't know all the details, but I remember Dick saying it happened on a kayaking trip, flash flood or something. It's been a while so I'm not sure, but I think it was so bad they never even recovered a body."

"Jesus." It was rough and heartbreaking to find Alex, he doubts he'll ever scrub the image of her corpse from his memory, but at least Kyle and her family had the closure of having something to bury. To not even have that… "That's pretty… I can't even imagine."

"Yeah," Donna says, staring down into her ice tea. "Like I said, he's doesn't need any more crap coming his way."

 

* * *

 

"Kyle? What are you doing here?"

He glances over at the familiar voice and is surprised by none other than Jason standing there, looking strangely straight-laced in a collared shirt that strains slightly over solid muscle and a depressingly sober tie. "Turning in proposed cover design roughs. What about you?" A publisher's office is the last place he ever expected to see Jason Todd-Wayne. "Doesn't seem like your sort of stomping ground."

"I do freelance editing work for this place and a few other publishers. It's almost all done digitally these days, but sometimes they gotta see me in person," Jason says, stepping onto the elevator next to Kyle.

The doors slide shut, and they go down in silence, stopping at various floors as other passengers disembark until it's just the two of them left.

"I guess it's pointless to ask how it's going getting those photos back," Jason says once they're alone. "I know what it's like to work on other projects when you hit a block with something."

"In my defense, I took this job before I ever met you," Kyle tells him. "Your case is just at a standstill 'til my guy gets back to me with the video. He already works two jobs, so sometimes it can take him a while, but he's pretty much the best around."

"Well, if you say so," Jason says, sounding more than a little doubtful. He hesitates slightly, then asks, "Look, were you on your way to anything? "

"Just back to my place. I'll probably stop and get dinner along the way." It's half-past five, but he's still got to get to the station and then brave the subway at rush hour. There are times Kyle really wishes he could fly.

"I know it's an odd thing to ask, but would you mind if I tagged along? Just, today's not a great day for me to be alone in the apartment, and I still don't know that many people in the city."

Leaning back, Kyle takes a moment to really _look_ at Jason beyond just how nicely he fills out business-casual wear. The other man looks haggard, with dark shadows under his eyes and facial hair that's edging out of aesthetic stubble and into the domain of apathetic scruff. "Bad day?"

"More like bad date—today's when they…" He trails off, his voice going hoarse and ragged. Kyle patiently follows him off the elevator when the doors open on the ground floor. Waits while Jason coughs, clears his throat, swallows. "It's three years since the accident, today."

Kyle winces. "No, I totally get it. I was just gonna swing by this pub near my place that the hipsters haven't found yet. Probably not up to your normal standards, but they do the best fish and chips I've ever had and usually have some pretty decent stuff on tap."

"I was half-raised by a genuine Englishman. My fish and chip standards are pretty high," Jason warns, but he smiles as he says it, tugging his tie free and shoving it in his pocket.

"The owner doubles as the cook and claims to be from Cornwall, but I have no idea if he's telling the truth or not," Kyle admits.

"If it's not frozen fish sticks, it'll have one up on the supposed-English pub my brother dragged me to last time I was in Blüdhaven. For an ex-carnie, he has absolutely awful taste in fried foods."

 

* * *

 

"Honestly, I don't know what surprises me more—that you're an editor or that you have a job at all," Kyle admits later, once they're firmly ensconced in a booth at the pub.

"What, because of my family?" Jason laughs and shakes his head. "My dad's a big believer that everyone should try and give back to society however they can. All of us have to do some kind of work or school to even gain access to our trust funds."

"Yeah, okay, sure, but I guess I was expecting more, well…" Kyle trails off, taking a moment to sip his beer as he tries to think of a way to put it tactfully.

Jason saves him the trouble. "That it'd be some cushy CEO position with minimum effort expected on my part?"

"Your words, not mine," Kyle says, though he doesn't dispute them.

"Naw, I don't have the head or cutthroat nature for boardroom politics. None of us do, except for maybe Damian, and he's just as likely to end up in the arts once he finally picks a major. As it is, Dad's not even CEO of his own company—he could do it, has the training and the smarts and does sit on the board, but he'd rather run the charities."

"Still, bet he's a bit put out that could be none of his kids are going to take over the family business."

It's apparently not quite the right thing to say, because something goes dark on Jason's face, a little of the easy openness that he's gained over the course of the evening slipping away. "He says the most important thing to him is that we find something that makes us happy, that he doesn't care about legacy and all that, but…" He trails off, taking a long sip from his drink.

"But?" Kyle prompts. "You think he's disappointed?"

"I think he was hoping Tim might at least take his place on the board someday," Jason says, voice soft and edging on breaking. "He wasn't any more into the business stuff than me or my siblings, but he picked up a lot of business stuff from his mom when he was younger."

"Oh." Kyle doesn't really know what to say to that, acutely aware of the loss Jason suffered. Continues to suffer, because you never really recover from something like that. He clears his throat, searching for some way to lighten the mood. "So one of your brothers is an artist? What kind? Digital, traditional…?"

Jason gives him a grateful look, grasping at the out and running with it, clearly more than happy to expound on his numerous siblings and their various accomplishments. Anything to avoid dwelling on might-have-beens that will never matter now.

"What about you? Donna said you were a cop, but you really don't strike me as the type. I'm sure there's a story there," Jason says some time later.

"Not really. I had… I guess you'd call him a mentor? He was a neighbor of mine, one of those people who'd seen and done pretty much everything under the sun in his very long life. I was all set to go to art school—at least, that's what my teachers were pushing me to do. Ganthet was the only one who actually asked me what _I_ wanted to do."

"And you said you wanted to be a cop?"

Kyle laughs. "Nah, I just said I wanted to help people. Ganthet helped me decide on the police academy. Nearly became a paramedic, but I'm really bad at memorizing stuff, and the person I was dating at the time was looking at pre-med and she said it was _all_ memorization."

"It really is. My little sister just finished her M.D. and she was _constantly_ complaining about all the bones or muscles or symptoms she was expected to learn and remember." Jason takes a pull from his glass, then raises an eyebrow. "So what happened? Couldn't cut it, working for the man?"

"Naw, I did alright, earned my detective's shield and everything. But I fucked up my knee and couldn't manage the required level of physical fitness anymore." He stares down at now-empty plate, grimacing slightly. His knee was injured on the same case that got Alex dead, and it's always hard to think of one without remembering the other.

"You okay there?"

"…not exactly," Kyle says after he takes a moment to seriously consider the question. "But I'm a lot better than I was."

 

* * *

 

Somewhere around half-past midnight, the bartender gives them the sad-eyed look that means she's willing to keep refill their glasses, but they'll have to suffer through punishing guilt trips each and every time. It's a look Kyle knows well, and one that generally means it's time for him to head on home.

"I'm just down the street, I'll be fine," he says, trying to wave Jason off as he struggles to his feet.

"At least let me walk with you to make sure you get there alright," Jason insists. "I can call a car from there as well as I can from here."

Kyle's about to protest again when he nearly walks into the doorframe, only Jason's quick-thinking and outstretched arm saving him from that embarrassment. It's possibly he's a bit more tipsy than he originally thought. "Yeah, okay."

They stumble down the street, able to stay upright only by leaning on one another and through pure cussedness. At his building, Jason misjudges the step up and collides with his back when Kyle stops to root through his pockets for his key. He turns to check on the other man and finds Jason leaning in, eyes dark and expression raw in a way that way that sends a jolt straight to Kyle's groin.

He holds up a hand before Jason can lean in any further. "No."

"No?"

"Not that I don't want to," Kyle says, because he's found honesty to be the best policy when it comes to these things over the years, "but we're both drunk, and I don't fuck around with clients. Makes it all kinds of awkward when it comes time to bill for services rendered."

Jason makes a wounded sound, but ultimately backs off. "Fair enough."

"Once this is all cleared up and the bill is settled, though, all bets are off." Kyle rakes his eyes over Jason, letting them linger to convey his interest as much as he can while keeping his hands to himself. "I've been wanting to paint you ever since you walked through my door."

"Oh?" Jason smirks, tilting his head to the side and returning the look. "You wanna map out my body?"

"In every way possible," Kyle promises.

"In that case, I guess I can wait." Jason takes a step back, propping himself against the building as he takes out his phone. His eyes don't move from Kyle, though.

Gulping, Kyle fumbles for his key.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up sometime around ten to a throbbing head and a jangling phone. Kyle's about to roll over and go back to sleep when he registers and recognizes the ringtone the one he assigned to Gary. He stumbles climbing out of bed, but still manages to answer just before it can switch to voicemail. "H'lo?"

_"Wow, someone sounds like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I can call back later, if you want."_

"I'm awake now, may as well tell me what's up." Shuffling around the kitchen, he starts pulling out things for breakfast and coffee, beginning with painkillers. It's not as bad as it could be, he remembered to drink a couple of glasses of water before collapsing the night before, but why suffer if he doesn't need to?

_"So, about that video…"_

"Please tell me you were able to get something." As he wakes more and more and remembers all of what transpired the night before, Kyle is increasingly ready to finish this particular job sooner rather than later.

_"I tried my hardest and did everything I could, but despite what TV will have you believe, I can't magically 'recover' information that was never recorded in the first place."_

"Fuck," Kyle swears, banging his head against the refrigerator door. "That was pretty much my only lead at this point." He doesn't know what he's going to do now. Hit up the auction houses again, start scouring the gossip sites. The fact that a couple weeks have passed already without a peep on either of those fronts makes him think it's unlikely the prints will be found that way, though.

_"Sorry, man. Don't know what else to tell you, but I can't work miracles."_

"Yeah, I get that. Thanks for trying." He doesn't doubt that Gary knew it would be a lost cause as soon as he got a look at the video, but he also understands that the other man had to try, as a matter of professional pride.

_"As long as you still understand when I give you the bill."_

Kyle laughs. "Somehow, I think this is one client who isn't going to notice the extra cost."

 

* * *

 

He swings by the Sundollars the next day around half-past ten, figuring that to be far enough into the morning that other customers won't give him the stink eye for distracting Gary from making their overly complicated caffeine fix. Alice isn't on-shift today, it's some girl with half her head shaved and the other half dyed electric blue. Past experience has taught him that it's best not to try and engage her, since she's actually a spirit-sucking force of nature, so he bypasses the register entirely, instead grabbing a table clearly visible from where Gary's slaving away behind the espresso machine.

Some fifteen minutes later, Gary collapses in the chair next to him, half-draped across the table. "Every shift with her is like an episode out of _The Twilight Zone_. Time ceases to exist and I enter an alternate plane of existence where everyone sighs passive aggressively and duct tape is a valid fashion accessory."

Kyle pats his shoulder consolingly, but feels little sympathy. "I'm not sure if the guy with a mullet can pass judgement on other people's fashion choices."

"It's not a mullet, it's a reverse-fade," Gary says, because he lives in denial of the fact that he secretly wishes he'd been able to experience the eighties.

"I don't even know how to respond to that, it's wrong on so many levels. Do you have the drive? I'd like to get it back sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, yeah, here you go." Gary slides it across the table, then returns to his slump. "Sorry I couldn't do more."

"It happens," Kyle says as he pockets the drive with a sigh. After last night, he's more motivated than ever to finish this, but all the motivation in the world doesn't do him any good when he's got zip for leads.

Gary's head tilts to the side and he reaches across the table to rest a hand on Kyle's arm, squeezing it gently. "You okay there, man? I told you from the start to not expect much, but you look like I just ran over your dog."

"More like my love life," Kyle admits with a groan.

"Okay, I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't demand an explanation when you drop a bombshell like that, so. Explain."

"I'm attracted to the client, have been from the start. No problem, right? It happens, but I don't do anything because I'm a professional. Just, the other night it came out that the attraction's mutual, we're both interested in taking it further, but he respects that I want to wait until the job is wrapped up."

Gary frowns. "This guy's into you? Well, I guess there's no accounting for taste."

"Haha, very funny," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. "Not that it matters anyway, because you were my best bet for getting this done quickly, and now I'm back to square one with nothing. It doesn't make sense, y'know? Celebrity nudes don't just _disappear_ into the ether, but these have."

"Now I feel even worse about only having bad news for you," Gary says with a grimace.

Kyle sighs and shakes his head before pushing back his chair and standing. "Don't be, it's not like it's your fault. Like I said, these things happen."

"I guess. See you around, Rayner."

"Bye."

Stepping out onto the street, he pulls out his phone and prepares himself to make the call he's been avoiding for over a day now. He's got to update Jason about the status of video, let him know the job's stalled out for good now with no end in sight. It'll be fine.

It still takes a lot of effort to make the call.

"Hey," he says, not even trying to keep the dullness from his voice. "Sorry to tell you this, but I've got some bad news…"

 

* * *

 

He tries to work the case, to get it to go further, revisiting contacts and checking in to make sure there's nothing new, but it's no good. No one's seen the stolen prints, no one's heard anything about them, no one knows anything at all. After wasting nearly half the week on that, he bites the bullet and acknowledges that while getting laid is a noble cause, working other jobs to make sure he has enough to make rent and eat is an even nobler one.

Kyle's working his way through the third round of revisions on a freelance design job a few days later when his phone rings. He answers without checking to see who it is, too focused on trying to figure out what the client meant when they asked for 'a redder red, but one that's not so angry.' "Rayner, how can I help you today?"

_"Well, I was hoping to settle my bill and then, if you're not busy, maybe take you out."_

It takes him a moment to process that it's Jason talking, and even then he still has to fumble for his phone, checking the screen to make sure. "Uh, much as I'd love that, last I checked yours was still an open job. It's like I said the other day, the video was a bust and there honestly aren't any leads. Since you said you didn't want to take this to someone else, I gotta be honest and say you're not getting those prints back anytime soon. Sorry."

_"Funny you should say that, since I'm looking at them right now."_

"I—what? How?" 

_"Weirdest thing ever. Walked into the study this morning, and there they were on the desk, just waiting to be hung. It's like they were never even gone. I guess whoever took them snuck back in last night and returned them."_

"That makes no sense. Who the hell goes through all that trouble to steal something that is, sorry, basically worthless, keeps it for a month, and then returns it?"

On the other end of the line, Jason laughs. _"The way I figure, it was probably my brother pulling a prank on me. It's just the sort of thing Dick would do, and his wife is more than capable of screwing with the cameras. Either way, the job I hired you for is over, which means our working relationship is at an end. Wanna come over and help me celebrate? Maybe pick up where we left off the other night?"_

It's eleven o'clock in the morning on a Thursday and Kyle has any number of things he should be working on. Any number of things that will still be there, come tomorrow. "Yeah, sure," he says, saving the file and putting his computer to sleep. "See you soon."

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 1 of what I'm affectionately calling "Kyle Solves Some Mysteries!" So, like. There will be more parts in the future, I swear.
> 
> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart.


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